


A Brighter Future

by starlightwalking



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Begging, Clearing Up Miscommunications, Communication, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingon is Maedhrosexual, First Time, Getting Together, Innumerable Stars 2020, Love, M/M, Not Compliant With Laws and Customs Among the Eldar, Post-Rescue from Thangorodrim, Teasing, Trans Maedhros, Trans Male Character, Trust, Vaginal Sex, a vague handwave toward LaCE, extremely romantic sex, god they're so in love it's ridiculous, really more like, see story notes for content warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27189251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking
Summary: Findekáno discovers new things about Russandol, the world at large, and himself. But mostly about Russandol.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Comments: 12
Kudos: 55
Collections: Anna's Trans Anthology, Innumerable Stars 2020





	A Brighter Future

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AdmirableMonster (Mertiya)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/gifts).



> Tried out using the personal thee.......let's hope it worked, shall we?
> 
> In case you missed it in the mess that is the tags, Maedhros is trans, and also he and Fingon fuck.
> 
> Content warnings:  
> Implied/referenced erectile dysfunction, genital mutilation, and rape - none of which actually happened. Implied/referenced psychic torture, which did happen. The general post-Angband warnings about Mae's self-esteem, though that is not the focus of the fic.  
> Some internalized transphobia, quickly rejected by both the trans character and his partner. Genital surprise/reveal. Discussion of pregnancy. Overall, the cis character is nothing but supportive and affirming of the trans character's gender and body, and a good time is had by all.

“Why do you look at me like that?” Russandol asked softly.

Findekáno started guiltily. He hadn’t expected his friend—his _dearest_ friend—to look up from the letter he was reading and catch him in the act. He blushed, but smiled and replied, “Because I am glad to see you at peace.”

(And that _was_ the truth, but not the whole of it. He did not say that he was noting the way Russandol was starting to fill back out after the dreadful thinness of captivity, that he was admiring the shine of the candlelight on Russandol’s newly-washed red hair, that he was thinking of how lovely Russandol was even still, even despite his scars, if not even lovelier.)

Something flickered across Russandol’s silver eyes—not...disappointment, surely?

“I am peaceful as I can be,” he admitted. “The shadow of pain remains in my heart, but...”

He reached out his hand (his only hand, now that Findekáno had done his bloody work), and Findekáno knelt at his bedside.

Russandol cupped his cheek, his thumb brushing the line of Findekáno’s jaw. “With you, I am more at peace than I have been since before my father’s exile,” he said softly. He tilted his head, that beautiful red hair, mercifully spared from his torment, falling softly about his shoulders. “Now that I say that, I realize...that was the last time I could be with you, truly be with you, with no worries greater than anxiety over our fathers catching us together.”

Findekáno held his breath. This proximity, those sweet words...they awoke a wanting long-buried within him, a desire he thought he had quashed into nothingness on the long, dark march across the Ice. Well...not truly. As soon as he heard of Russandol’s danger it had roared up again, that love, consuming him utterly, pushing him to madness and beyond. But in the end that love had _won_ , had allowed him to free his dearest friend, and though throughout the long and terrible process of Russandol’s recovery it had calmed somewhat, it had never truly slept.

Once, in that beautiful time Russandol spoke of, he had almost believed his feelings were returned. Once, he had been so very close to confessing, to taking Russandol’s face in his hands and kissing him, to promising Russo his heart and offering him his hröa...

But everything was different, now— _everything_. How was it, then, that this, still, was the same? How was it that Russo could undo him with just a soft look, a brush of his fingers, a quirk to his lips—once soft, now scarred, but still so inviting...

“Russo,” he whispered, his heart pounding. He had quite forgotten whatever it was that Russandol had just said, so caught up was he in his own thoughts.

“Dear Finno,” his friend murmured. “I love thee. I hope thou knowest that. Thou art the fairest sight I could look upon, the truest companion I could wish for, the kindest soul in all of Arda...”

Findekáno felt dizzy, and he was sure he was trembling. Oh, how those words brought joy to his fëa! But Russo...Russo was different, now; surely even if he _had_ wanted Findekáno, he wouldn’t anymore, not Findekáno who had taken his hand, not Findekáno who...who...

Russandol tilted his head the other way. “Come up here,” he invited, shifting to make room in his bed. “I think there is something we must discuss, and I would like to do it more...intimately.”

Findekáno obeyed, his heart in his throat. He opened his mouth, trying to say something, _anything_ , but found his voice was lost. Was this happening? Was it truly happening, at long last? Why now, when never before? Or—was he simply overreacting?

Russandol chuckled, and in that betrayed his own nervousness. “Finno,” he said gently. “Come closer. May I hold thee?”

“Always,” Findekáno blurted out, shuffling closer, into the crook of his arm. He looked up at his friend and felt so very small again, admiring his elder cousin and wanting to be just like him when he was older. Or perhaps to simply be _with_ him, forever.

“I love thee,” Russandol said again, his words heavy-laden with meaning.

Findekáno swallowed, then whispered, “I love thee, also.” When Russandol said nothing else, simply staring at him tenderly, Findekáno took a deep breath and added, “I love thee dearly—as not only a friend. As...as I might a lover.”

Russandol smiled, his hand coming to rest on the back of Findekáno’s neck. “I thought so,” he murmured. “But...I needed to hear you say it.”

“Russo?” Findekáno breathed, and then Russandol pulled him closer, closer, closer, and their lips met at long last and Findekáno forgot everything that was not him.

Russandol’s lips were warm and rough, and though this was different from the moment Findekáno had dreamed of for so many years alone, it was more beautiful than anything he could ever have imagined. The reality of Russo, here, with him, _kissing_ him—that was better than a dream; it was heaven. He was back in Valinórë again, in the little grove they had found together and kept secret for themselves, and the Trees were bright and warm and he felt safe, so very safe and loved in Russo’s arms.

At last Findekáno drew back, though not far. Their foreheads yet touched as he whispered, “Oh, Russo. I have wanted—” his voice cracked— “I have wanted this, wanted _you_ , for...for so long.”

“I wish I had acted sooner,” Russandol admitted, a shadow passing like a cloud across the gray of his eyes. “If I had, perhaps things would have been different...”

“It matters not,” Findekáno said fiercely, “for we are together now.” He paused. “Are we together...?”

Russandol stared at him in wonder. “There is nothing that could part us, as far as I am concerned,” he said. “You saved me, utterly. I am yours, just as utterly.”

Findekáno could not respond to that in any other way but a kiss, and then another, and another. Soon Russandol pulled him up on his lap, and he was moaning into Russo’s mouth. This one longing fulfilled, another lit a fire in his belly, and he found himself hardening, grinding against Russo’s hips, wanting more, more, more...

“Finno,” Russo groaned, pulling him even closer. “Finno, ai...you are perfect, my love, you are everything I have ever wanted...”

“I want you,” Findekáno growled. “I want you, fëa and hröa. I want you, _Russo_ —”

“I want you too,” Russo assured him, though he did not rock back up against Findekáno. “In every way, if you will let me have you...”

“This—is not too much?” he asked quickly, halting his movements. “I—desire you, Russo. I cannot hide it any longer.”

“Truly you did not hide it well before,” Russandol murmured. (Findekáno decided not to be offended by that.) “But no, of course it is not too much, for I desire you also, in the same way.”

Overwhelmed, Findekáno kissed him again, longer and fiercely, his tongue tracing across Russandol’s teeth. Russo nipped at his lip, and he moaned, kissing him harder, longer, until he could scarcely think.

At last Findekáno broke from the kiss, breathless. “I want you to fuck me,” he confessed, his voice low and, he hoped, seductive. “I want to feel you within me, loving me from the inside out...”

Russandol, who had before met him eagerly, stilled. “I cannot,” he rasped, and Findekáno cursed himself. Of course he could not, it had been far too much to presume, after all Russo had doubtless endured, why oh why had he dared to push his luck, to not be satisfied with this bliss that Russo had already chosen to give him—

“I’m sorry,” Russo began, but Findekáno shook his head.

“No, _I’m_ sorry,” he said firmly. “I shouldn’t—I don’t _need_ that from you. I...I want it, but you should not feel as if you must. I would never force you, I would only enjoy it if you did too, I should not have presumed...”

Russandol _laughed._ Findekáno stared at him, perplexed.

“Findekáno,” he said tenderly. “My dear, darling Finno. I love you; I want you—I want to have sex with you. But I can’t—not that way, not the way you want.”

“You mustn’t push yourself for my sake,” Findekáno insisted. “I can wait—forever, if need be—Russo, I love _you_ , not your cock, I want you to be _happy_ —”

“Finno.” Russandol kissed him lightly, taking his hand and guiding it down to his crotch. Findekáno shivered—he wanted, _oh_ he wanted—

But though he himself was bursting at the seams of his breeches, his clothing painfully tight around his obvious erection, Russandol was still completely soft. Findekáno blinked, understanding—or at least, he thought he did.

“Oh,” he said. “Well, that happens. Especially after what—you’ve been through—if, ah, _this_ takes longer to heal—”

“Finno,” Russandol said, exasperated, pressing his palm down more firmly, and Findekáno realized—

It wasn’t that Russandol couldn’t get it up. Even a soft cock would have a slight bulge. No...no. It was that he—that he did not _have_ a cock.

After the first wave of horror washed over him, and after he dismissed the selfish disappointment that he would _never_ live the fantasy he held so dear, he was overcome with a fierce need to reassure Russo that this changed nothing. He twisted his hand from Russandol’s grasp and lifted it to his beloved’s cheek, cradling his face gently.

“Russo,” he said, “that—that doesn’t matter. I mean, it does, but I still love you. I still _want_ you. I’ll—I’ll be on top, if you want, or we can craft you a false one, a replacement, and I will love you all the same—or if this means you never want to be touched there, if the pain is too much, that’s fine. I love you anyway: nothing, _nothing_ will change that, nothing they did to you can change that.”

At first he saw tenderness and relief in Russo’s eyes, but as he continued that was replaced slowly by confusion. Findekáno’s heart broke, that a declaration of undying love would elicit such a response—had they trained him to think he was not _worthy_ of such adoration? Well, if they had, Findekáno would dedicate his life to reteaching him the truth, that he was loved and always would be.

But to his astonishment, Russandol laughed again. Did he truly take his trauma so lightly...? Findekáno was lost, unsure about how to comfort him, how to care for him.

“Findekáno,” he said, amused. “Are you under the impression that—that they cut it off me?”

Abashed, Findekáno nodded. “Why else...?”

“No, that is not what happened.” Russandol’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “I endured many things in Angamando, but none of...that nature.” He looked down, laying his hand on Findekáno’s knee. “The Enemy and his greatest servants are, despite everything, still Ainur, and Ainur are sexless. They do not understand our hröar, not that way. The torments I faced were greater and more insidious than simple...mutilation, or violation.”

Findekáno fought to keep himself from trembling, both from sorrow and from rage. That the Enemy had been able to lay a single finger on Russandol, manipulate him in any way—he understood, now, the need for revenge that had spurred Fëanáro to pursue Moringotto. And yet, at least Russandol had not been harmed in that way, at least that was an evil he had not been subjected to.

“I do not know whether to be relieved, or...” Findekáno trailed off, unable to meet Russo’s eyes.

“I feared those things, too,” Russandol admitted. “And I am glad they did not happen. Relief is a valid response, especially as I know you would never dismiss the horrors I _did_ face.” He squeezed Findekáno’s knee, and Finno nodded firmly. Never, never.

Findekáno tried and failed not to glance back down to Russandol’s groin. He still did not understand. Russo noticed, raising an eyebrow, and Findekáno mumbled out, “But...why, then, do you...”

“Finno, dearest,” he sighed, and reached down to fumble with the laces of his breeches. “I hope you mean it when you say that you will want me regardless, that you will not be put off by what you find...but I see now I must simply show you what I am.”

Findekáno lifted himself up off Russandol’s lap slightly so that he could shove his breeches down. His heart was in his throat—none of this was going the way he’d planned, the way he’d dreamed, and yet even still Russandol was baring himself for him, showing him this most intimate part of himself...

“Oh,” Findekáno said at last, once he saw the truth—the real truth. He couldn’t come up with anything cleverer to say.

Russandol had not lost his cock. Rusandol had never _had_ one to begin with. Instead his mound hid soft lips, and Russo shivered as he took Findekáno’s hand and guided it downward, slipping _between_ them, feeling him slick and—and _wanting_ —

Findekáno’s finger brushed at a little nub, and Russandol shuddered, letting out a slight whimper. Entranced, Findekáno explored further, pressing gently—gently _into_ him, marveling at the heat of him, the feeling of being sucked in, of being wanted...

“Finno,” Russandol rasped, bucking his hips lightly. “Finno, I...I know this is not what you imagined, I know you...probably don’t desire níssi, and I...have the hröa of a nís, even if I have the fëa of a nér, but...I hope...”

Findekáno had not imagined this, he was right. But it was not néri that he desired, it was _Russandol_ , and in any form his Russo was perfect, and perfectly desirable.

He pulled his fingers free, though in truth he wanted _more_ , and marveled at the wetness on his hand, the proof of Russo’s desire, that Russo wanted him. He made eye contact with his beloved and slowly licked his juices off his hand, savoring the salty-sweet taste of him. Russandol watched with owl eyes, breathing heavily.

“I want you, any way I can have you,” Findekáno said at last, his voice low and intimate. “I want you as you are. You have the fëa of a nér, a nér that I love, and you have a nér’s hröa, also. It may not be the same as mine, but that matters not. It is _yours_ , and that is what I find so enticing. _You_ , dear Russo. My fantasies were based on an inaccurate vision of you, and the real you was always going to be better, no matter what.”

Russandol blinked away tears, and Findekáno leaned down to kiss them off his face.

“I do not deserve you,” Russo rasped, and Findekáno claimed his lips in an effort to stop such nonsense from escaping them.

“I am honored that you would share yourself with me,” he said softly. “I would accept all that you wish to give, and offer you the same.”

“I love you,” Russandol whispered. “I want you. I...I cannot be inside you, but I would gladly take you within me, and give you pleasure that way, however you would wish it.”

“I want that, too,” Findekáno assured him. “Russo, I...surely you can tell how much I want that, want you.”

Now it was his turn to guide Russo’s hand to his crotch, moaning softly as his beloved groped at his erection. Russandol’s eyes lit up hungrily, and, glancing up at him for permission—eagerly granted—he made quick work of freeing Findekáno’s cock, hard and long and weeping with precome already. With wonder, Russandol trailed a thumb across the head, and Findekáno groaned, eyes fluttering closed. Then he grasped Findekáno firmly around the base, and _oh_ , he _had_ dreamed of this, the only difference being that in his dreams Russo had possessed both his hands, but _that_ at least was his own (un)doing.

“I want you,” Russandol murmured. “Oh, Finno...you are beautiful, so beautiful...so big, so lovely, so hard, and for _me_...may I have you, love? Will you bury yourself within me, fill me up, make me whole?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Findekáno chanted, gripping Russo’s shoulders as he stroked him gently. “Valar, Russo, of course, always, _yes_ —have you oil? I don’t want to hurt you—”

Russandol raised an eyebrow. “I am dripping for you,” he said wryly. “Though, I understand if you would prefer my other entrance, if you would wish to avoid my...less masculine parts—”

“I want _everything_ ,” Findekáno growled, kissing him fiercely. “You are a dream, Russo, every last part of you, and I see nothing unmasculine about you. Your...”

“Pussy,” Russandol said frankly. “You may call it what it is, I do not mind.”

“Your pussy, then,” Findekáno continued, “is as nér-like as the rest of you.” He paused. “Well...as long as you see it that way, of course, I should not assume...”

Russandol closed his eyes briefly, letting go of Findekáno’s cock so that they both might focus.

“I was a little nettë, once,” he said. “Or at least, they thought me to be. But my father saw I did not fit the role, and asked if I preferred another. So I said I wished to be his son and not his daughter, and that was that. It was before you were born; only Makalaurë remembers, of my brothers, for Tyelko was but a bump in my mother’s belly at the time.” He sat up a little taller. “I am a nér, yes, and—and my body belongs to a nér. I simply...worried you would not see it that way.”

“I do,” Findekáno said firmly.

“That makes me happier than you can ever know,” Russandol rasped. He buried his face in Findekáno’s chest, his next words a quiet rumble vibrating against his skin. “Finno, I...you are all I have ever wanted. I...I knew you wanted me too, and perhaps...I might have acted, back in Valinórë, if I had been more sure of myself. And then, when you saved me...I could not imagine you wanting me _still_ , after all I have done, and all I am now. But,” he said before Findekáno could protest, “you _do_ , and I am beyond grateful for that.”

“I love thee,” was all Findekáno could say to that. He lifted Russandol’s head to stare him deep in those silver eyes, drowning in moonlight. “I always have; I always will. I would bind myself to thee—I know that is moving fast, that we have many trials ahead of us still—but I would wed thee, Russo, so that I might be thine forever, and have thee be mine.”

Russandol flinched. “Any oath I take would be second to the other,” he said softly. “You deserve better than that. Even though... Even though I want the same, my love.”

“We will wait, then,” Findekáno said firmly. “Until thy first Oath is fulfilled—and as a husband would, I will aid thee in thy quest. It shall be my bride price for thee, dear one. A Silmaril for my hand!”

“Truly then thou wouldst be Fëanáro’s kin,” Russandol said drily, “the spouse of his heir. It would be thine by right, then, as much as mine.”

“I care not for the jewel, only what it symbolizes,” Findekáno murmured. “Only that its return to thy hands means I shall have thee, and thou me.”

“We needn’t wait for _all_ of that, I hope?” Russandol asked, taking Findekáno in hand once more and stroking him slowly. “Please tell me we shall not be as the Vanyar and wait until marriage for you to fuck me.”

Findekáno laughed. “My grandmother may be a Vanya, but I am Noldo to the bone,” he teased. “No force in all of Arda could stop me from ravishing thee, shouldst thou wish it also.”

“I do,” Russandol breathed. “I do, I do, _please_ , Finno...”

Though he wished not for Russandol to stop touching him, if they were going to do this there were steps to be taken first. Findekáno swatted his talented hand away, rising up and shimmying off his breeches entirely, stripping off his tunic for good measure.

He then made quick work of Russandol’s clothes, admiring the expanse of his fair skin, the intricate scarring across his body. He simmered with rage that the Enemy would mar his beloved so, but even still, Russandol was comely beyond measure. Well-made Maitimo, indeed; and even these markings only added to his allure.

His chest was only slightly larger than the average nér’s, no more than Findekáno’s own rounder form, made heavier from eating all he could now that they were free of the Ice. Russandol’s nipples were hard little points, and Findekáno could not resist leaning down to take one in his mouth, sucking gently.

Russandol gasped. “ _Finno_ , I...”

He released him. “Do you not like that?” he asked. “Should I stop?”

“No, I—I like it—it is only—” Russandol looked up at him, somehow even _more_ impossibly beautiful in his desperation. “ _Please_ get inside me, Finno, I cannot stand your teasing—”

Findekáno chuckled, rutting gently against his mound, only teasing further. “I want to undo you, beloved,” he growled. “I want you to be alight with pleasure, overcome with it... I want to feel you coming around me, drenching me in your release... I want you to forget anything but me, and the pleasure I am giving you...”

“Finno,” Russandol whined. “You are already driving me wild!” In an attempt to guide Findekáno into himself, he took him in hand once more, tugging in a maddening rhythm.

“Good,” Findekáno said, kissing him lightly on the lips. “I want you mad with it. Because of _me_.”

“You, you, only you,” Russandol promised. “Only you can make me feel this way...!”

Oh, but it was becoming too much for Findekáno now, the way his Russo pumped his cock and begged and pressed the stump of his arm against the cleft of Finno’s ass... He wasn’t sure how much longer he could bear to be outside of him, not when he spread his legs so wantonly, not when his pussy leaked for him, not when the smell of sex was already addling his mind.

“Wait,” he said, realizing. “One—one more thing, before I—before we—”

“What is it this time?” Russandol hissed. “Stars, Finno, I _need_ you—”

“You...and I...” Findekáno gestured at them, where they would join together. “Could we...could we make a child together?”

Russandol groaned, releasing him and throwing an arm over his eyes dramatically. “You know how to kill the mood, alright,” he grumbled.

“It is only...” Findekáno pushed aside a sudden fantasy of Russo swelling round with his baby, of a red-haired child with his own blue eyes, of a peaceful family, domestic bliss... Not now; they could talk about that some other time, if Russo would even be willing to bear a child.

“I don’t want to do it by accident,” he explained. “Ought I not to come inside you? I mean, if you don’t want me to, I won’t, regardless, but—I should like to know.”

“I am physically capable of bearing children, yes,” Russandol said testily. “But we are Eldar, not beasts, and as with marriage vows and the union of souls, such things must be _intentional_ for us. It takes _effort_ to create the spark of a new fëa, and no child can take hold in my womb without us both earnestly desiring it.” He swatted Findekáno’s shoulder. “Did your parents not teach you this? Because you are a nér and have always been seen as such? I know _my_ brothers are well aware, but with seven of us my parents wanted us all to know just how loved and wanted we were.”

Findekáno blushed. “I...just wanted to be sure,” he said. “To be honest, by the time I was old enough to be learning about sex and pregnancy, I already knew you were the only one for me. Even those I...dallied with, before you, were only ever to prepare me for this moment.”

Russandol looked at him with such wondrous adoration that Findekáno thought he might melt. Instead, he pressed on: “And, as we so recently established, I was under the impression that childbearing would be beyond us, even should you return my feelings and we both would wish it. I did not pay the utmost attention to my lessons, I admit.”

“Oh, Finno,” Russandol sighed. “I don’t know if I will ever wish it; I do not now, certainly, and for the same reasons I cannot marry you, I would not bring a child into the world under these conditions.”

“I would like a child,” Findekáno admitted. “But I have long since come to terms with the knowledge that such a thing is unlikely, or must be accomplished by other means. And as I said for thee: I will gladly wait. Any child of ours...” He shivered. “I would want them to grow in a safer world than this. But—we can talk of this more later, yes? I promise this is my last interruption.”

“There is no risk of a child,” Russandol reaffirmed. “And it is my dearest desire for thee to fill me up, though you seem stubbornly insistent on dragging that out, so _yes_ , you may come inside me and— _hnng! ahh!_ ”

Findekáno relented at last, aligning his cock with Russandol’s slit and finally, _finally_ pressing in. He, too, cried out as they joined together, overcome with the feeling of a longing fulfilled. He had taken another nér before, though never like this, but nothing compared to Russandol hot and tight and wet around him, his walls clenching and pulling him further in. It was not that Russo’s pussy was a better entrance than a stranger’s ass, but that it was _Russo_ , at long, long last, _his_ for the taking.

“Oh, _Finno_ ,” Russandol groaned, his head flung back and his normally bright eyes dark with lust. “Oh, Finno, you feel so _good_...”

“You feel—even better,” he promised deliriously, sinking into him completely, until he could not go any further. His cock fit so snugly inside Russo, like Maitimo had been made not just perfectly, but perfectly for _him_ ; he wondered at the glorious feeling, and knew that while his ass would ache to be filled by something Russo did not have, this reality was better than any fantasy. And it wasn’t as if Russo could _never_ fuck him, only that it would take a bit more effort than this easy coming together.

He settled against the cradle of Russo’s hips, staring down at him in wonder. Russo’s scarred lips stretched into a smile, and Findekáno could not help but to bend down and kiss him.

“I love you,” he breathed, and felt Russandol flutter and clench around him.

“Finno,” Russo moaned against his lips. “Finno. _Please_ move.”

Findekáno laughed, joy and love and desire bubbling up within him, and did as he asked. He drew back slowly, delighting in the friction of Russo’s walls against his cock, in the way Russo’s breath caught and his hand shook even as he gripped Findekáno’s waist, in the faint warmth of Russandol’s fëa at the edge of his consciousness—not twining with his own as it would when they were free to marry, but there, a promise of a brighter future to come.

When he had almost completely pulled out, he looked down to his beloved and smiled. “Tell me if it is too much,” he said, and Russo nodded—and he thrust forward, pushing back into him strong and firm, and the choked cry that spilled from Russandol’s lips was a music sweeter than any composition of Makalaurë’s.

“ _More_ ,” Russandol begged, and, “ _faster, please_ ,” and Findekáno had not the strength of will to tease him any further. He set a rapid pace, his balls slapping against Russandol’s lower lips with each thrust, and Russo devoured his cries with his mouth. Soon Russandol lifted himself up, leaning back in his bed, pulling Findekáno even closer, the angle pushing him even deeper inside.

“How does it feel,” Findekáno gasped, because to him it was heaven, but if it wasn’t good for Russo it wasn’t good enough.

“Incredible,” Russo moaned. “But—harder, _please_ , more, I need it, I need you—”

Findekáno sank his teeth into Russo’s shoulder and obeyed, slamming into him with all his mighty strength. Russandol tensed around him, babbling out his name and such lovely nonsense about his beauty, his spirit, his love, and Findekáno could only turn his words back on him.

“I’m close,” Russo hissed, letting go of Findekáno’s hips and slipping his hand down into his own folds just above where Finno moved in and out, in and out. He was searching for that little nub, Findekáno realized, and remembered vaguely that it was a pleasure center for those thus equipped. He moved his own hand down to join Russo’s, looking into his silver eyes, asking silently for help so that he might bring his beloved to the brink and beyond it. He was close, too, but he wanted Russo to come first, wanted to show him all his love.

Russandol’s large fingers tangled with his own smaller ones, guiding him to the right spot, pressing down at the nub, lightly trailing a nail around it, pressing again. Soon Findekáno got the hang of it and swatted away Russo’s hand with his free one—the advantages of having two, he thought giddily—and moved just a little faster, pinched just a little harder.

“ _Findekáno_!” Russandol shouted, and Finno shuddered, thrusting into him as fierce as he could, pressing firmly on that spot that brought him such pleasure. And then he felt it, Russo’s release, his inner walls tightening, contracting, spasming, hot liquid dripping out of him even faster, being fucked right back into him, and though the feeling was amazing unlike anything Findekáno had before known, it was the ecstasy in Russo’s shining silver eyes that pushed him over the edge more than anything else.

He thrust a few more times before he let himself go. He buried himself deep within Russandol, as deep as he could go, and Russo was clenching _again_ , rewarding him; his climax overtook him and he cried out, spilling his seed hot and thick inside his lover.

Russo moaned, wrapping his legs around Finno’s waist, pulling him closer, taking it all, every last drop. Findekáno came for an impossibly long moment, Russo’s body drawing more out than he knew he had in him. At last he finished, trembling, and collapsed on top of his beloved, breathing heavily.

Russandol did not let him go. His arms reached around Findekáno’s torso, pulling him into a sloppy kiss, and Finno met him with as much fervor as he could. There was a mess between them, hot fluid squelching where they were joined together, dripping out of Russo’s pussy, but Findekáno didn’t care; he reveled in it, in the feeling of being with Russo, _within_ Russo.

“Thank you,” he whispered, brushing a strand of fiery hair out of Russo’s face. “Thank you for...for loving me. For wanting me. For letting me do this.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Russo rasped. “For all of that. For saving me. For trusting me. For...for everything. For you.”

“You have always held my heart, Russo,” he said softly. “I would follow thee to the end of Arda. I would do anything for thee, anything at all.”

“You should not,” Russo said, closing his eyes.

Findekáno kissed his eyelids. “I followed thee into battle,” he reminded him. “I made myself a Kinslayer for thee. When thou left me on the far shore, I followed thee across the Ice. When I learned thou wert in Hell, I followed thee, and freed thee. I would do it all again, for thy sake.”

“Finno,” Russandol whispered, at once both plea and prayer.

“It is rash, perhaps,” Findekáno admitted, “it is unwise...but thou makest me those things, and I love thee too much to regret any of it.”

“I will be thy ruin,” Russo croaked. “I will be thy end, if that is true.”

“Then a sweet end it shall be, my love,” Findekáno murmured, “for it shall be of I and thee—and I know thou wilt follow me, also, for as I am thine, thou art mine also.” He smiled, radiant. “But let us speak on brighter things: the future is not dark, not if we fight for the light. I believe we shall win, and live, and love, for I can do anything with thee at my side.”

“Thou givest me hope,” Russandol admitted; “hope, where I thought I had lost it all. But thou, Findekáno...thou art brighter than the Sun, to me, and if thou promiseth a brighter future, I believe thee, and will fight for it with thee.”

**Author's Note:**

> bonus tags that AO3 decided were too long:  
> finno was too busy daydreaming about getting railed by maedhros to pay attention to the "het" stuff in Elf Sex Ed, "het" in quotes bc that's what he thought he was getting at the time but now that it's relevant it's super duper gay
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please comment if you enjoyed!  
> You can find me on tumblr [@arofili](https://arofili.tumblr.com/).


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